slttygeto

[slttygeto]

༉‧₊˚. LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST WHILE READING!

༉‧₊˚. episode 10: twilight zone

preview: "Longing for something is painful in itself, but it’s lethal when it was never yours to begin with. "

content warning: we're soooo back (temporarily), reader is a mess.

word count: 6k

༉‧₊˚. note: thank you once again to my amazing best friend @aurelianamu for being my beta reader! another chapter that took way too long because of my writer's block and other personal reasons. but pls do enjoy and like, reblog and comment pls :)!!

༉‧₊˚. reblogs + comments are really appreciated!

➜ MASTERLIST

"Take a deep breath," a deep male voice slowly pulls you from your daze. 

You glance around the restaurant, taking in the orange lighting, soft brown cushions, and the overwhelming scent of seafood. 

"Hey, I’m right here." Your eyes shift back from the crowd at the entrance to the golden eyes gazing at you. Your throat feels parched, and unable to speak, you simply nod repeatedly until a gentle hand rests on your head.

"You'll make yourself dizzy, bunny." 

Though it's just a nickname, your shoulders droop, and you lower your head, exhaling deeply. 

"Now," the deep voice speaks again, drawing your attention. You lift your head to meet the gaze of the man who had answered your call when you made a reservation at this very restaurant—the one he owns. 

Taiju leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, fully focused on you. There’s no escaping his inquiry. 

"Why don’t you start from the beginning?"

—

Beep

Beep

Your ceiling was a white color, it had ridges around the corners and a small crack that formed over the years and many earthquakes that have passed. The walls of your apartment were a creamier color, it balanced out the wooden furniture that you had picked out and the paintings you hung by the entrance of your door. There was one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen and a living room–

Beep

Beep

Your eyes follow the framed pictures sitting near the TV–was dust starting to collect on them? When was the last time you wiped them down? You shake your head and look away, choosing to stare out of the window. The area that you lived in was a pretty secure one, it was alive both during the night and day–

Beep

Beep

The to-do list sitting on your kitchen counter was looking rather empty. You weren’t sure if you had written down everything–only six things to check out? That didn’t feel like enough. Where was the deep cleaning part? Your laundry needed to be sorted through and re-organized, half of your make-up was sitting on your vanity, your hair accessories were lying everywhere–

“The person you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after…” 

Call ended.

You hold your phone for a while after ending the call, staring at the screen with nearly no expression on your face. You felt nauseous. No, you were certain that you were nauseous but had no reason to throw up.

Four days shouldn’t be concerning, it’s happened before. You can’t change him.

Slowly, you place your phone down on your kitchen counter before looking around your place. It definitely needed some cleaning, and what better way to de-stress than make it look spotless?

Besides, you had a feeling that Hanma (despite his lack of appreciation for the little things in life) would absolutely enjoy a spotless apartment. Maybe he would even tease you about how you haven’t changed a tiny bit.

“It’s…10PM, what the fuck are you doing?” A sixteen year old Hanma stands on your fire escape, a habit he’s formed over the many months of visiting you. He watches with curious eyes as you lay out all of your clothes on your bed, your hair styled in a way that keeps it out of your face.

You huff as you stare up at him, annoyed that he interrupted your momentum. “Organizing.”

“At this time? The fuck are you, a stressed out Cindrella?” He doesn’t even try to step inside your room, aware that you would most likely scold him. He could smell the air-freshener on the curtains, and the carpeted floor looked as though it had been recently vacuumed. 

You don’t bother to look back at him as you respond. “God forbid a girl wants to re-organize her closet.”

And without missing a beat, Hanma adds. “At 10PM?” 

That wasn’t the last time he ever saw you stress-clean, and everytime without missing a chance, he would let you know that your room looks spotless. And it would throw you so off-guard that words would die down in your mouth, leaving your jaw hanging open as you watched him climb down the fire escape.

He once told you that old habits die hard, and this was definitely something you couldn’t let go of. You start with the kitchen—you put the dishes back in their spot, give the kitchen counter and the stove a nice scrub before moving onto the fridge. You never realized that the racks had gotten a bit dirty, so you remove them and wash them one by one. While they dry, you get to re-organizing the small pantry section in the corner of your kitchen, throwing out what had long gone bad. 

By the time you were done in the kitchen, it was time to move to the bathroom. That didn’t take you a long time since the space for it was rather tight, but you made sure to scrub hard enough until your arms almost gave out—

And once in a while, you would look out of the door and peek from behind the wall to see if you had missed it—the three loud knocks that threatened to shake the walls of your apartment, or the playful jab at your door with his foot that always left your blood boiling. You had always scolded him that he would leave shoe prints, and he shrugged it off everytime. 

But your apartment is quiet—eerily so. So much so that you finally decide to turn on your TV and play one of your favorite podcasts. 

You were in the mood for something light-hearted this time.

When it is finally time for your bedroom, your hand reaches for the window first thing. This apartment also had a fire-escape, something you had dreaded at first. Because no matter how secure the area was, you didn’t appreciate the idea of someone landing on your fire-escape and somehow breaking into your house. But after securing it and living in the apartment long enough, you were no longer afraid that someone might randomly land there.

In fact, you hoped that someone wearing a suit with a striped tie around his neck and a pair of glasses would somehow land on your fire escape. That would be the only explanation as to why he wasn’t knocking at your door yet. 

“Must be a long mission.” There is a heavy weight on your chest as you utter those simple words. Something about Hanma being on a mission never sat right with you, even if it was part of his job. You had no idea what could happen and when—and that fills you with so much dread. 

You shake your head at the negativity that suddenly consumes you, finally facing the mess that was your bedroom. Bedsheets and clothes on the floor, one pillowcase discarded while the other remained in the same position he had left it in. 

You never took Hanma for a person to hug his pillow in his sleep, but that also meant that he rubbed off his scent on the fabric rather easily. That same smoky, warm and slightly intoxicating perfume that always had you sighing against his skin. 

Well, your room still needed a good cleaning.

—

When does a person finally take matters into their own hands?

Some would say right away, others are too afraid of confrontation and would rather delay the interaction for as long as they could. You were neither of the two—anxious and bold at the same time, you wish you could have done something about this situation.

But the reality was; you can’t. You simply cannot do anything about something that was foggy in itself—a dark and clouded forest you didn’t know your way out of. Your thumb hovers the screen for a few minutes, trembling as you press call again. 

Beep

Beep

Call cancelled.

The calls weren’t going through anymore. 

Which didn’t make sense for many reasons–that was Hanma’s personal phone number, he had to be using it at all times, right? Or maybe he had it on airplane mode so that he could avoid being tracked down. Either way, an eleven-day mission simply didn’t make sense to you.

Hanma was an unstoppable force–you had seen it with your own two eyes when you stumbled upon that scene in the abandoned building. He was violent, aggressive, strong and impressive all at the same time. He was a reliable member of Toman, one of the important pillars that ensured the stability of the team. You might not be aware of what they were doing, but you knew that his fall would mean the destruction of Toman.

It didn’t make sense for him to disappear for almost three weeks.

Buzz. 

In an instant, your phone was back in your hand. You hate how fast you reached for it, you loathe yourself even more for the lump in your throat when you read the name and it isn’t his. Your thumb hovers the screen, trembling, hesitant to click on the messages. 

It was a co-worker. Bile rises to your throat.

hey where have u been

uve been offline for like the whole weekend

and i heard you took the week off

is everything okay?

yeah just came down with a nasty flu :// 

ill be back next week dw! 

thanks for asking about me tho

Anyday

if you need smth let me know, mkay?

If it were any other situation than this, you would absolutely reach out to them, but you cannot imagine yourself opening up to them—a co-worker out of all people, about something as personal as this. 

You remember his words, that day when he took you out claiming that he wanted to check on you, like he was some sort of friend to you. 

“It was okay, I have some friends at work,” he seems to find that funny as he snorts.

“Those aren’t your friends, baby girl. Those are your colleagues.”

“They can also be my friends,” you glare annoyingly. You don’t like when people assume they know you better than yourself, and Hanma wasn’t an exception.

He leans back against the dark leather seat, lips twitching with amusement. “Sure they can.”

You loathe the fact that his words had some sort of truth to them, that you were never truly able to open up to your colleagues the same way you did with people from your past. And here you were all alone at home, having taken the week off for reasons you felt were pathetic, and with nobody to listen to you or your problems.

Or maybe there was actually someone. 

Your hand swipes across the screen in fast movements, looking for that one instagram account you had been following for a while—a friend you’ve made around the same time you started dating Mitsuya— 

Shiba Yuzuha was a breath of fresh air.

The two of you had stayed very good friends even after you left the city—she was your best friend, someone you felt comfortable with telling everything to. You weren’t the type to text everyday, but whenever the two of you caught up with each other, it felt as though you were fifteen all over again. 

You inhale deeply as you stare at your shared conversation with her—the two of you were sharing memes just a few days prior before she got busy with work again. You could simply shoot her a message explaining the situation or…

hey

lemme know when ur available to talk

Within seconds, she had seen your message. You don’t expect her to respond to you that quickly.

I’m here

Is everything okay?

No. Nothing was okay. You feel pathetic for tearing at the message, you curl up on the couch and your body trembles as sobs rip from the back of your throat—God did you feel like a mess.

When Yuzuha notices that you had left her on seen for more than five minutes, she presses call.

Your phone lights up, Yuzuha’s name and picture appear big on your screen that you scramble to wipe your tears and clear your voice to make it seem as though you weren’t crying your heart out. 

“Hello?” 

“What’s wrong?”

That was the start of a six-hour-long call with the Shiba sister.

—

You don’t remember how much you told Yuzuha, but at one point during the call all she could do was sigh before asking if you two could switch to a video call.

The gasp that left her when she had seen the state of you was a tell-tale sign that you were going through it.

“Girl!” She covers her mouth, clearly concerned. “What has this man done to you?”

“You don’t want to know.” You say bitterly followed by a dry chuckle. 

“Oh I think I do, I mean you’ve given me a clear picture of how he’s been folding you–”

“Yuzuha!” Your hands cover your hot face, and you run your fingers through your hair before heaving out a long sigh. “I feel so stupid for even worrying about him, you know?”

“Listen, this is Hanma we’re talking about.” Yuzuha starts, and you see her move around her kitchen before finally setting her phone on the table with a plate of curry in front of her. “I’m sure he’s not that easy of a target.”

She didn’t even need to tell you this, because you knew all of this—you were well aware of how scary Hanma was, how terrifying he could be, the reputation he had built for himself at just sixteen by terrorizing the streets of Shinjuku stood as a testament to that. 

But closing on almost three weeks of no contact was starting to drive you crazy.

Yuzuha watches closely as you rest your forehead on your knees, hugging them close to your chest before your soft voice sounds out:“I just need to know that he’s okay.” 

She wasn’t one to poke and prod when it came to your romantic partners, she always waited until you were comfortable enough to let her know when and who you were dating—however, she has never seen you this invested in a person.

Not since Mitsuya Takashi, the man she thought you were going to marry and have children with.

“Do you like him?” Yuzuha finally breaks the silence, and you slowly raise your head to stare at the screen. Your eyebrows are furrowed, almost offended that she had even asked you this question.

“No? What—” But why was your body feeling hot? And why was it that your heart was beating so hard against your ribcage? 

Did you like Hanma Shuji?

“I don’t like him like that, we’re just friends and—”

Yuzuha’s lips curl up in a playful smile.“You’re turning red in the face.”

“Shut up.”

Another beat of silence follows, before the peach-haired woman speaks up again.

“It’s okay if you like him, I mean—”

“I don’t have feelings for him.” Your words came out much harsher and more definitive than you'd intended. You recoiled from your own voice, seeing Yuzuha's visibly startled face. You feel terrible, curling up in a ball as you hug your knees to your chest. “I’m…sorry. I just don’t want to think of that possibility.”

Yuzuha could sense that you were conflicted—she watches as your fingers reach for something. Was that…

“Is that the necklace Mitsuya got you?” Her tone doesn’t sound accusatory, but you can’t help but feel like a deer caught in headlights as she points it out.

“...yeah?”

“Girl!” She gasps. “It’s been years! Why did I never notice?”

“And?” You cover your neck with your hand, shielding the necklace away from her judgemental gaze. “And probably because we haven’t met up in a—”

“And? You have to move on, I’m certain that he did–”

You groan as you hold your head. “Don’t put that idea in my head.”

“Seriously, you never took it off?”

Not once. Even after dating a couple of people after Mitsuya, that necklace would never come off. It was a reminder of what you could’ve still had with the lavender-haired man.

Had he not prioritized his career over a relationship.

He was everything you wanted and more—a loving partner, caring and patient and willing to put up with your worst mood swings. But he was also such a breath of fresh air to be around. When your brothers (mostly Ran) would ground you for something stupid, the boy would climb up your fire escape with snacks and a movie to watch with you. And he would only leave after making sure that you were sound asleep. 

Mitsuya was your first love, and he set a standard no one else could reach. 

In your eyes, no one will ever truly measure up.

"No," you responded, your voice lacking its usual defensiveness, replaced instead by sheer weariness. Yuzuha wisely let the subject go. After a few more minutes of conversation, you two decided to call it a night. 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, I’m glad you told me.” She flashes you a soft smile before grabbing her phone. “I’ll let you sleep, text me if anything happens. Okay?”

And then the video call ends.

–

The apartment was slowly starting to look like a graveyard. The blinds were constantly shut, you only allowed sunlight for a few hours before closing them and returning to your spot on the couch. 

You have watched every movie you had put off, every series you said you would never dare touch—hell, you even cried at a Horror movie. It’s safe to say that the state of your apartment was a direct reflection on the state of your mind.

An absolute mess.

You attempt to have a proper breakfast for the first time in a couple of days, and it surprisingly goes well. You’re not sure if it is the shower you took before going to bed or the sunlight that suddenly appeared in the middle of December, but you are grateful for the warmth against your skin.

Even as you turn on the TV, a sigh doesn’t escape your lips and you don’t immediately click on the News Channel. 

And last but not least, for the first time in a month, you pick up your phone for a reason that wasn’t centered around him. Because if you were going to have a good start to your day, you were going to make sure that it ends the same way.

Your thumb glides over the screen with little to no care, searching for the familiar contact name. When you reach the last row of letters, you click on a single name. 

Press call.

It’s ringing.

“Hello?”

“Anchor & Cross, how can I help you?”

“I would like to make a reservation, please?”

There is a long pause after that, and you pull your phone away from your ear to stare at your screen. You were still on the line.

“Hello?”

“(Name), is that you?”

Your heart stills at the familiarity of the voice, of the way he says your name—you didn’t expect him to pick up, he had staff to do that after all. Alas, you gather all of your remaining mental strength to respond.

“Yes Taiju, it is me.”

“How have you been? It’s been a while since you showed up at the restaurant.” 

It had been four weeks to be exact—four long weeks since you shared a bed with Hanma, since you felt his warmth or were held in his arms. 

Longing for something is painful in itself, but it’s lethal when it was never yours to begin with. 

So, now you are holed up in your apartment, lonely and refusing any human interaction. Your anxiety hasn’t allowed you a peaceful day since his sudden departure, you cannot get yourself to go outside without looking at the faces of passersby and praying that you see even a glimpse of him. Dual toned hair, intense golden eyes, barely shaven beard and a pair of glasses. You never find him despite how hard you stare and how long your gaze lingers.

And something looms over your head—darker and far more suffocating than the anxiety that grips your bones. An idea far more sinister than your brain could comprehend or begin to accept, you push it to the far edge, never fully tipping it over. Because it made sense of it to happen, you knew it came with his line of work.

However, just because something is logical doesn’t mean that it’s true. 

So, his existence lingered in a strange ‘in-between’. You couldn’t confirm nor deny it—your body simply couldn’t allow you to reach out to the one person who would give you a clear answer, it was bad enough that Chifuyu knew about your involvement with Hanma.

But you couldn’t handle the constant worrying anymore. You were starting to lose yourself in a maze you trapped yourself in, slamming against the walls you had built for yourself.

You were doing well before Hanma came into your life, handling his absence should be easy. 

Plus, the video call with Yuzuha was refreshing—finally telling someone other than your diary felt like getting a huge weight off of your chest.

“You said you wanted to make a reservation?” You almost forget you’re on the line with the blue-haired man, as you slowly sit up on the couch. 

“If it’s possible, tonight at 8PM?”

“Alright, and how many people?”

There is a long beat of silence, before you finally speak up. “Just one.”

You pray that the silence that follows your response isn’t one of judgement, not that it mattered to you. 

“It’s done. See you at 8PM then?” 

You nod as though he can see you.

“See ya.” 

–

Twelve years shouldn’t feel like such a short time, but Taiju recalls the first time he saw you like it was yesterday. 

Mitsuya had casually mentioned that he was bringing you along to a short meeting with Taiju, and the latter had teased the lavender-haired boy about how clingy you were. And honestly, he wasn’t really expecting much—just the usual shy, reserved type that would never dare look Mitsuya in the eye. He would be the type to speak for them, order for them, be their life-line.

But there you stood, like a lit-match in a room full of gasoline. You were shorter than him, but you dared to set the entire place in flames if he dared to speak.

He doesn’t bother to hide his confusion, immediately raising an eyebrow at you as you stand behind Mitsuya with your arms crossed over your chest.

“My love, this is Tai–”

“I know him.” You never cut off your boyfriend when he speaks, you love hearing his soft and soothing voice, but you couldn’t handle this. Standing in front of someone as vile as Taiju.

Mitsuya tries to be soothing at first, gently rubbing your shoulder as he looks between you and his tall friend. 

“Unfortunately, she does know about the uh… incident.”

Taiju could only describe the look on your face as ‘disbelief’. 

“Incident?” You scoff. “That was attempted murder.”

Taiju crosses his arms over his chest. “Big words for someone your age.”

That seems to set you off even more, and he watches as Mitsuya wraps an arm around your middle before you can explode on him.

“I’m only three years younger than you, dickhead.” 

It was clear from the get-go—the only thing you felt towards him was pure and unadulterated hatred. 

But somewhere down the road, and after befriending his younger sister Yuzuha, your disdain towards the boy grew less evident and more manageable. Taiju could tell by the glances you would throw his way, your silent sharing of a snack you had brought with you, asking him if he was willing to tag along with you and Yuzuha to buy Mitsuya a gift.

“Why would I do that?” He had asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t know? Don’t come then.” You roll your eyes at him, and Taiju swears if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t let them have an attitude with him.

Strangely enough, you were the exception for many things.

Taiju sees you standing in front of the restaurant, the streetlights catching the deep emerald green of your satin maxi skirt as it flowed around your legs. A white knitted sweater hugged you, looking soft and comfortable. Your red high heels clicked softly on the pavement as you shifted your weight, and the small black purse in your hand seemed almost an afterthought. He caught the glint of a delicate necklace at your throat as you scanned the building. 

Just because someone was physically present didn't mean their mind was, and your current state was proof.

You shouldn't have been surprised the restaurant was crowded, but the sheer number of people there on a Wednesday night still caught you off guard. You sighed, preparing to speak to the manager—only to be greeted by a barrel of a chest.

“Ouf,” you step back, ready to apologize, until you feel a hand hold your forearm. 

“Someone really likes to be on time, huh?” that same playful voice, the feeling of a large hand against your skin—Taiju had a strange way of making things feel a bit better.

It could be a Shiba thing.

“Hi,” you reply weakly, and the man’s eyebrows raise. 

So you really weren’t doing okay.

“Is my table ready?” You ask, looking around the place and Taiju nods. 

“Come on.”

The warmth of his hand never leaves your skin, he carefully switches from your forearm to the small of your back and you allow for his touch to linger for a bit as he leads the way. 

The table he had picked for you was in the far back, near a beautiful aquarium. It looked like a VIP seat, but you don’t comment on it until the man pulls back the chair for you and you shoot him a look.

“Should I be worried?”

The blue-haired man chuckles. “Can’t a man treat a woman nicely?”

You eye him carefully as you sit down, watching as he gets seated in front of you. “I’ve known you for years.”

“Then it makes sense for me to treat you nicely.”

You try not to roll your eyes, but it can’t be helped. “Right.”

Taiju leans back in his seat, and you notice that there’s a smile plastered on his face. 

“What?” you question, eyes scanning his body language for something that would give away the reason behind his amusement.

“I really let you do anything to me, you know that?”

You freeze, face flaring up. 

“...what do you mean?”

Slowly, Taiju leans forward with his face a couple of inches away from yours. “Rolling your eyes at me like that, that could get you in trouble, bunny.”

Had you been in a different state of mind—or perhaps, on any other day—your reaction to his flirting would've been entirely different. But it was all too familiar. 

The same shade of gold in those eyes, the bold words, even the way he dressed—the two men were so different, yet, to you right now, strikingly similar. You'd come here for a distraction, not to be reminded of what you'd been grappling with for weeks. 

You swallowed thickly, and Taiju, sensing the shift in your demeanor, noted the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead and the way your gaze kept darting around the crowded restaurant.

“Is everything okay?” Taiju’s voice sounds distant, and within moments you’re reaching for the glass of water next to you.

“Hey, hey—” his hand rests on top of yours, and he doesn’t miss the way you flinch. “You need to breathe.”

“No, I—”

“(Name)." The finality in his voice cut off any chance of argument. When you finally mustered the courage to meet his eyes, your frown deepened at the sight of his worried face. "What happened?"

His gaze, combined with the humiliating weakness of your intense feelings for a man you didn't even know was alive—you absolutely hated it.

“Hanma has been missing for a month.”

—

Taiju listens to you carefully. The distant look in your eyes could've fooled anyone else, had them thinking that you had no feelings whatsoever towards the situation. But your body language was telling an entirely different story.

You were fiddling with your thumbs and your eyes never fully met his ever since you sat down. Your shoulders were squared up, and you kept looking over his shoulder as though to expect someone to show up.

A tall man with dual toned hair and tattooed hands. 

“I feel like if it was just fooling around, I wouldn’t be so… upset.” You admit, the distant look in your eyes is replaced by something glossy. Just what has this man done to you?

The restaurant owner listens to you retell the story of what has unfolded over the last few weeks—from your many attempts to reach the criminal, to the video call you had with his sister. It was obvious you cared for Hanma Shuji, but his line of work didn’t allow you to reach out to any of his co-workers, not even your friend Chifuyu.

And it wasn’t as if Taiju didn’t meet Hanma before—in fact, that interaction near his restaurant was something that kept replaying for a while afterwards.

“Should I ask how you found me?” Your voice sounded sweet, a bit confused but it didn’t sound like you wanted to start a fight. Hanma simply chuckled, turning to face the blue-haired man.

“Get in the car, doll.” 

You didn’t argue, you didn’t ask him why he was ordering you around—you obeyed his words like it was second nature. 

Taiju could tell that whatever was going between you and the criminal was anything but casual, but the question was: were you aware of that?

It was safe to say that you were in a difficult situation, and the annoyance stirred deep in Taiju’s stomach. 

You seemed so worried about this man, going as far as to neglect your own health—you own spark. Why was he so bothered by it?

“I feel like my brain physically can’t stop itself from creating these scenarios where everything goes wrong—”

“It’s only natural,” Taiju leans back in his seat, he sees the shift in your expression, how you go from having a little bit of hope, to absolutely devastated. “It’s his line of work, of course you’d think something bad happened.”

“I know but—” you shake your head before resting your forehead on the palm of your hand. “It doesn’t make sense, he’s been doing it for years and…”

Taiju silently motions something to the waiter, mouthing ‘number two & five’ while actively listening to you. You don’t notice that you didn’t even bother to order, but soon enough there was food in front of you. 

Yet you were still going on about Hanma.

“And I feel like if it was the thought of our situation being more than casual, that would’ve been okay! We could’ve talked it out!”

Taiju pushes the plate of shrimp scampi in front of you, his eyes scanning your face. “You really think you could’ve talked it out with him?”

Your eye twitches at the tone of his voice. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it means,” 

You were too annoyed to notice the intensity of his stare, how his eyes dart across every small detail on your face. How your lips move as you speak, the way you suck them in when you’re annoyed, the twitch to your eyebrows when he says something you don’t want to hear.

Of all the women Taiju's encountered, you're the only one who truly makes him feel alive, like there was more to life than just owning a restaurant and being a successful business-man.

He’s always envied Mitsuya for many things—his kindness, his strength, his resilience and for having you. His pretty, loving and perfect girlfriend whom Mitsuya couldn’t wait to marry.

Until work came first.

The blue-haired man continues to stare at you, drinking in your expressions and body language. There was something a little too familiar about the current state of you—the dark bags under your eyes that even makeup couldn’t hide, the lack of appetite, the devastation and inability to think rationally.

Taiju is finally able to pinpoint why he is so bothered by your reaction to Hanma’s absence.

You notice that the man has gone completely silent. He holds his glass with one hand, swirling his drink and he seems to be deep in thought.

“Taiju?”

“Do you remember when Takashi broke up with you? How I only found out because I called to say happy birthday but found you crying?”

Your heart sinks in your stomach, and your face contorts into something akin to hurt. Taiju doesn’t like this expression, but he needs to make a point.

“...what?”

“You were devastated over a man who loved you,” Taiju leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “That makes sense, right?”

The look in your eyes is threatening, dangerous as you hiss the words:“What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“You’re losing yourself over a man who doesn’t care about you.” 

Your lips part in shock. The words hit you like a ton of bricks, your heart was beating loudly in your ears and you shook your head.

“Wha–no? No, I know he cares about me.”

“How?” The tall man asks, leaning back in his chair. He raises an eyebrow, his fingers drumming on the table. “How do you know he cares about you?”

“He got possessive over me that day, he–” you give Taiju a look. “You saw it. That was possessiveness.”

“And? You think that means shit?” he scoffs. “Men get possessive over parking spots.” 

“I don’t think…” you break eye contact with Taiju, slumping back in your chair. “I don’t believe that he never cared.”

“I’m not saying he never did, I’m just saying that he’s hurt you many times. That doesn’t sound like someone who cares.”

“He’s got his own issues on the side...”

“And you’re not a therapist.”

It’s really starting to get on Taiju’s nerves—the excuses you keep making for a man who’s made your life miserable, the defensiveness when he points out the obvious. He needed you to wake up and remember who you were. 

The fierce Haitani sister, the girl he met that was so protective of her boyfriend, and the woman whose college graduation he attended. 

You weren’t going to let someone like Hanma come and take that spark away.

For a moment, Taiju considers his options. He could listen to you talk about Hanma all day and get annoyed, and you would keep mourning the loss of something you never had. 

Or he could suggest something else.

“I can help you.”

You tilt your head. “Huh?” 

He continues. “Forget about him. I can help you forget about him.”

“...Taiju, it’s not funny.”

Taiju leans closer to your face, and you feel his hot breath fan over your lips. “When have I ever lied to you?”

The proximity leaves you breathless, but you don’t pull back. You swallow thickly, and your eyes keep darting over his face before landing on his lips. 

“You’re…how much did you drink?”

Instead of answering you, he grabs your hand from under the table and places it directly on his bulge. You gasp, but make no attempt to pull away from his touch. You feel your face flare up, and your throat dries up at the sheer size of him through his pants. 

“I’m as sober as a church mouse, pretty.” 

You swallow again. 

“Let me help you, I can treat you so well.” He whispers the last part, and you see his eyes shift their attention on your plump lips. 

You feel small under his gaze, easily breakable—your fingers twitch around his bulge, before your hand fully palms and you hear a hiss. 

“No,” he abruptly pushes back his seat before standing up and you have to peel your eyes away from his pants to grab your purse. “Go to my car.”

You panic, hands reaching for your phone as you look around.

“But I don’t know—” you see him throw car keys on the table, before going to the back of the restaurant.

“Underground parking lot.” You nod stupidly fast before scurrying out of your seat and towards the front of the restaurant, asking where the underground parking lot was. 

You’re not even embarrassed by how fast you obeyed his words, that emotion can consume you later when he’s done with you. 

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[slttygeto]

thank you all so much for the comments on chapter 10 btw it means so much to me

[slttygeto]

ECHOES OF TIME ༉‧₊˚. hanma shuji

Summary: Amidst the chaos of his work life, Hanma finds refuge and solace within your presence. Two souls bound by an imperceptible and delicate tie, strained by the passage of time that kept you apart. However, can this thin thread endure the weight of his inner struggles? And will you accept offering your heart to such an unpredictable man?

Read Echoes of Time and find out!

Word count: 57,1k

Content warning: canon related, not canon compliant, evil toman! hanma, fem! reader, reader is described to be shorter and of a smaller build than hanma's, cursing, gvn use, mvrder, description of graphic scenes, blood, gang violence, smut, oral (receiving and giving), fingering, unprotected sex, hanma has a vasectomy, size kink, dirty talk, angst.

note: this is, once again, heavily self indulgent. I still tried to make it as vague as possible, but some of the interactions or conversations that happen are ones that I envisioned for my selfship with him. there will be a few characters present in the story to make it fun and because it makes no sense for the story to happen just between the two of them, hopefully you’ll enjoy it. but if this isn't your cup of tea, kindly move along and have a great day.

CHAPTER ONE (4k words)

CHAPTER TWO (4k words)

CHAPTER THREE (4k words) cw: violence, mvrder.

CHAPTER FOUR (7,2k words) cw: smut

CHAPTER FIVE (6k words) cw: v!olence.

CHAPTER SIX (5,4k words) cw: suggestive.

CHAPTER SEVEN (5k words) cw: smut.

CHAPTER EIGHT (5,3k words) cw: smut.

CHAPTER NINE (10,1k words) cw: smut.

CHAPTER TEN (6K words)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (coming soon)

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[slttygeto]

༉‧₊˚. LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST WHILE READING!

༉‧₊˚. episode 10:

preview: "Longing for something is painful in itself, but it’s lethal when it was never yours to begin with. "

content warning: we're soooo back (temporarily), reader is a mess.

word count: 6k

༉‧₊˚. note: thank you once again to my amazing best friend @aurelianamu for being my beta reader! another chapter that took way too long because of my writer's block and other personal reasons. but pls do enjoy and like, reblog and comment pls :)!!

༉‧₊˚. reblogs + comments are really appreciated!

➜ MASTERLIST

"Take a deep breath," a deep male voice slowly pulls you from your daze. 

You glance around the restaurant, taking in the orange lighting, soft brown cushions, and the overwhelming scent of seafood. 

"Hey, I’m right here." Your eyes shift back from the crowd at the entrance to the golden eyes gazing at you. Your throat feels parched, and unable to speak, you simply nod repeatedly until a gentle hand rests on your head.

"You'll make yourself dizzy, bunny." 

Though it's just a nickname, your shoulders droop, and you lower your head, exhaling deeply. 

"Now," the deep voice speaks again, drawing your attention. You lift your head to meet the gaze of the man who had answered your call when you made a reservation at this very restaurant—the one he owns. 

Taiju leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, fully focused on you. There’s no escaping his inquiry. 

"Why don’t you start from the beginning?"

—

Beep

Beep

Your ceiling was a white color, it had ridges around the corners and a small crack that formed over the years and many earthquakes that have passed. The walls of your apartment were a creamier color, it balanced out the wooden furniture that you had picked out and the paintings you hung by the entrance of your door. There was one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen and a living room–

Beep

Beep

Your eyes follow the framed pictures sitting near the TV–was dust starting to collect on them? When was the last time you wiped them down? You shake your head and look away, choosing to stare out of the window. The area that you lived in was a pretty secure one, it was alive both during the night and day–

Beep

Beep

The to-do list sitting on your kitchen counter was looking rather empty. You weren’t sure if you had written down everything–only six things to check out? That didn’t feel like enough. Where was the deep cleaning part? Your laundry needed to be sorted through and re-organized, half of your make-up was sitting on your vanity, your hair accessories were lying everywhere–

“The person you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after…” 

Call ended.

You hold your phone for a while after ending the call, staring at the screen with nearly no expression on your face. You felt nauseous. No, you were certain that you were nauseous but had no reason to throw up.

Four days shouldn’t be concerning, it’s happened before. You can’t change him.

Slowly, you place your phone down on your kitchen counter before looking around your place. It definitely needed some cleaning, and what better way to de-stress than make it look spotless?

Besides, you had a feeling that Hanma (despite his lack of appreciation for the little things in life) would absolutely enjoy a spotless apartment. Maybe he would even tease you about how you haven’t changed a tiny bit.

“It’s…10PM, what the fuck are you doing?” A sixteen year old Hanma stands on your fire escape, a habit he’s formed over the many months of visiting you. He watches with curious eyes as you lay out all of your clothes on your bed, your hair styled in a way that keeps it out of your face.

You huff as you stare up at him, annoyed that he interrupted your momentum. “Organizing.”

“At this time? The fuck are you, a stressed out Cindrella?” He doesn’t even try to step inside your room, aware that you would most likely scold him. He could smell the air-freshener on the curtains, and the carpeted floor looked as though it had been recently vacuumed. 

You don’t bother to look back at him as you respond. “God forbid a girl wants to re-organize her closet.”

And without missing a beat, Hanma adds. “At 10PM?” 

That wasn’t the last time he ever saw you stress-clean, and everytime without missing a chance, he would let you know that your room looks spotless. And it would throw you so off-guard that words would die down in your mouth, leaving your jaw hanging open as you watched him climb down the fire escape.

He once told you that old habits die hard, and this was definitely something you couldn’t let go of. You start with the kitchen—you put the dishes back in their spot, give the kitchen counter and the stove a nice scrub before moving onto the fridge. You never realized that the racks had gotten a bit dirty, so you remove them and wash them one by one. While they dry, you get to re-organizing the small pantry section in the corner of your kitchen, throwing out what had long gone bad. 

By the time you were done in the kitchen, it was time to move to the bathroom. That didn’t take you a long time since the space for it was rather tight, but you made sure to scrub hard enough until your arms almost gave out—

And once in a while, you would look out of the door and peek from behind the wall to see if you had missed it—the three loud knocks that threatened to shake the walls of your apartment, or the playful jab at your door with his foot that always left your blood boiling. You had always scolded him that he would leave shoe prints, and he shrugged it off everytime. 

But your apartment is quiet—eerily so. So much so that you finally decide to turn on your TV and play one of your favorite podcasts. 

You were in the mood for something light-hearted this time.

When it is finally time for your bedroom, your hand reaches for the window first thing. This apartment also had a fire-escape, something you had dreaded at first. Because no matter how secure the area was, you didn’t appreciate the idea of someone landing on your fire-escape and somehow breaking into your house. But after securing it and living in the apartment long enough, you were no longer afraid that someone might randomly land there.

In fact, you hoped that someone wearing a suit with a striped tie around his neck and a pair of glasses would somehow land on your fire escape. That would be the only explanation as to why he wasn’t knocking at your door yet. 

“Must be a long mission.” There is a heavy weight on your chest as you utter those simple words. Something about Hanma being on a mission never sat right with you, even if it was part of his job. You had no idea what could happen and when—and that fills you with so much dread. 

You shake your head at the negativity that suddenly consumes you, finally facing the mess that was your bedroom. Bedsheets and clothes on the floor, one pillowcase discarded while the other remained in the same position he had left it in. 

You never took Hanma for a person to hug his pillow in his sleep, but that also meant that he rubbed off his scent on the fabric rather easily. That same smoky, warm and slightly intoxicating perfume that always had you sighing against his skin. 

Well, your room still needed a good cleaning.

—

When does a person finally take matters into their own hands?

Some would say right away, others are too afraid of confrontation and would rather delay the interaction for as long as they could. You were neither of the two—anxious and bold at the same time, you wish you could have done something about this situation.

But the reality was; you can’t. You simply cannot do anything about something that was foggy in itself—a dark and clouded forest you didn’t know your way out of. Your thumb hovers the screen for a few minutes, trembling as you press call again. 

Beep

Beep

Call cancelled.

The calls weren’t going through anymore. 

Which didn’t make sense for many reasons–that was Hanma’s personal phone number, he had to be using it at all times, right? Or maybe he had it on airplane mode so that he could avoid being tracked down. Either way, an eleven-day mission simply didn’t make sense to you.

Hanma was an unstoppable force–you had seen it with your own two eyes when you stumbled upon that scene in the abandoned building. He was violent, aggressive, strong and impressive all at the same time. He was a reliable member of Toman, one of the important pillars that ensured the stability of the team. You might not be aware of what they were doing, but you knew that his fall would mean the destruction of Toman.

It didn’t make sense for him to disappear for almost two weeks.

Buzz. 

In an instant, your phone was back in your hand. You hate how fast you reached for it, you loathe yourself even more for the lump in your throat when you read the name and it isn’t his. Your thumb hovers the screen, trembling, hesitant to click on the messages. 

It was a co-worker. Bile rises to your throat.

hey where have u been

uve been offline for like the whole weekend

and i heard you took the week off

is everything okay?

yeah just came down with a nasty flu :// 

ill be back next week dw! 

thanks for asking about me tho

Anyday

if you need smth let me know, mkay?

If it were any other situation than this, you would absolutely reach out to them, but you cannot imagine yourself opening up to them—a co-worker out of all people, about something as personal as this. 

You remember his words, that day when he took you out claiming that he wanted to check on you, like he was some sort of friend to you. 

“It was okay, I have some friends at work,” he seems to find that funny as he snorts.

“Those aren’t your friends, baby girl. Those are your colleagues.”

“They can also be my friends,” you glare annoyingly. You don’t like when people assume they know you better than yourself, and Hanma wasn’t an exception.

He leans back against the dark leather seat, lips twitching with amusement. “Sure they can.”

You loathe the fact that his words had some sort of truth to them, that you were never truly able to open up to your colleagues the same way you did with people from your past. And here you were all alone at home, having taken the week off for reasons you felt were pathetic, and with nobody to listen to you or your problems.

Or maybe there was actually someone. 

Your hand swipes across the screen in fast movements, looking for that one instagram account you had been following for a while—a friend you’ve made around the same time you started dating Mitsuya— 

Shiba Yuzuha was a breath of fresh air.

The two of you had stayed very good friends even after you left the city—she was your best friend, someone you felt comfortable with telling everything to. You weren’t the type to text everyday, but whenever the two of you caught up with each other, it felt as though you were fifteen all over again. 

You inhale deeply as you stare at your shared conversation with her—the two of you were sharing memes just a few days prior before she got busy with work again. You could simply shoot her a message explaining the situation or…

hey

lemme know when ur available to talk

Within seconds, she had seen your message. You don’t expect her to respond to you that quickly.

I’m here

Is everything okay?

No. Nothing was okay. You feel pathetic for tearing at the message, you curl up on the couch and your body trembles as sobs rip from the back of your throat—God did you feel like a mess.

When Yuzuha notices that you had left her on seen for more than five minutes, she presses call.

Your phone lights up, Yuzuha’s name and picture appear big on your screen that you scramble to wipe your tears and clear your voice to make it seem as though you weren’t crying your heart out. 

“Hello?” 

“What’s wrong?”

That was the start of a six-hour-long call with the Shiba sister.

—

You don’t remember how much you told Yuzuha, but at one point during the call all she could do was sigh before asking if you two could switch to a video call.

The gasp that left her when she had seen the state of you was a tell-tale sign that you were going through it.

“Girl!” She covers her mouth, clearly concerned. “What has this man done to you?”

“You don’t want to know.” You say bitterly followed by a dry chuckle. 

“Oh I think I do, I mean you’ve given me a clear picture of how he’s been folding you–”

“Yuzuha!” Your hands cover your hot face, and you run your fingers through your hair before heaving out a long sigh. “I feel so stupid for even worrying about him, you know?”

“Listen, this is Hanma we’re talking about.” Yuzuha starts, and you see her move around her kitchen before finally setting her phone on the table with a plate of curry in front of her. “I’m sure he’s not that easy of a target.”

She didn’t even need to tell you this, because you knew all of this—you were well aware of how scary Hanma was, how terrifying he could be, the reputation he had built for himself at just sixteen by terrorizing the streets of Shinjuku stood as a testament to that. 

But closing on almost four weeks of no contact was starting to drive you crazy.

Yuzuha watches closely as you rest your forehead on your knees, hugging them close to your chest before your soft voice sounds out:“I just need to know that he’s okay.” 

She wasn’t one to poke and prod when it came to your romantic partners, she always waited until you were comfortable enough to let her know when and who you were dating—however, she has never seen you this invested in a person.

Not since Mitsuya Takashi, the man she thought you were going to marry and have children with.

“Do you like him?” Yuzuha finally breaks the silence, and you slowly raise your head to stare at the screen. Your eyebrows are furrowed, almost offended that she had even asked you this question.

“No? What—” But why was your body feeling hot? And why was it that your heart was beating so hard against your ribcage? 

Did you like Hanma Shuji?

“I don’t like him like that, we’re just friends and—”

Yuzuha’s lips curl up in a playful smile.“You’re turning red in the face.”

“Shut up.”

Another beat of silence follows, before the peach-haired woman speaks up again.

“It’s okay if you like him, I mean—”

“I don’t have feelings for him.” Your words came out much harsher and more definitive than you'd intended. You recoiled from your own voice, seeing Yuzuha's visibly startled face. You feel terrible, curling up in a ball as you hug your knees to your chest. “I’m…sorry. I just don’t want to think of that possibility.”

Yuzuha could sense that you were conflicted—she watches as your fingers reach for something. Was that…

“Is that the necklace Mitsuya got you?” Her tone doesn’t sound accusatory, but you can’t help but feel like a deer caught in headlights as she points it out.

“...yeah?”

“Girl!” She gasps. “It’s been years! Why did I never notice?”

“And?” You cover your neck with your hand, shielding the necklace away from her judgemental gaze. “And probably because we haven’t met up in a—”

“And? You have to move on, I’m certain that he did–”

You groan as you hold your head. “Don’t put that idea in my head.”

“Seriously, you never took it off?”

Not once. Even after dating a couple of people after Mitsuya, that necklace would never come off. It was a reminder of what you could’ve still had with the lavender-haired man.

Had he not prioritized his career over a relationship.

He was everything you wanted and more—a loving partner, caring and patient and willing to put up with your worst mood swings. But he was also such a breath of fresh air to be around. When your brothers (mostly Ran) would ground you for something stupid, the boy would climb up your fire escape with snacks and a movie to watch with you. And he would only leave after making sure that you were sound asleep. 

Mitsuya was your first love, and he set a standard no one else could reach. 

In your eyes, no one will ever truly measure up.

"No," you responded, your voice lacking its usual defensiveness, replaced instead by sheer weariness. Yuzuha wisely let the subject go. After a few more minutes of conversation, you two decided to call it a night. 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, I’m glad you told me.” She flashes you a soft smile before grabbing her phone. “I’ll let you sleep, text me if anything happens. Okay?”

And then the video call ends.

–

The apartment was slowly starting to look like a graveyard. The blinds were constantly shut, you only allowed sunlight for a few hours before closing them and returning to your spot on the couch. 

You have watched every movie you had put off, every series you said you would never dare touch—hell, you even cried at a Horror movie. It’s safe to say that the state of your apartment was a direct reflection on the state of your mind.

An absolute mess.

You attempt to have a proper breakfast for the first time in a couple of days, and it surprisingly goes well. You’re not sure if it is the shower you took before going to bed or the sunlight that suddenly appeared in the middle of December, but you are grateful for the warmth against your skin.

Even as you turn on the TV, a sigh doesn’t escape your lips and you don’t immediately click on the News Channel. 

And last but not least, for the first time in a month, you pick up your phone for a reason that wasn’t centered around him. Because if you were going to have a good start to your day, you were going to make sure that it ends the same way.

Your thumb glides over the screen with little to no care, searching for the familiar contact name. When you reach the last row of letters, you click on a single name. 

Press call.

It’s ringing.

“Hello?”

“Anchor & Cross, how can I help you?”

“I would like to make a reservation, please?”

There is a long pause after that, and you pull your phone away from your ear to stare at your screen. You were still on the line.

“Hello?”

“(Name), is that you?”

Your heart stills at the familiarity of the voice, of the way he says your name—you didn’t expect him to pick up, he had staff to do that after all. Alas, you gather all of your remaining mental strength to respond.

“Yes Taiju, it is me.”

“How have you been? It’s been a while since you showed up at the restaurant.” 

It had been four weeks to be exact—four long weeks since you shared a bed with Hanma, since you felt his warmth or were held in his arms. 

Longing for something is painful in itself, but it’s lethal when it was never yours to begin with. 

So, now you are holed up in your apartment, lonely and refusing any human interaction. Your anxiety hasn’t allowed you a peaceful day since his sudden departure, you cannot get yourself to go outside without looking at the faces of passersby and praying that you see even a glimpse of him. Dual toned hair, intense golden eyes, barely shaven beard and a pair of glasses. You never find him despite how hard you stare and how long your gaze lingers.

And something looms over your head—darker and far more suffocating than the anxiety that grips your bones. An idea far more sinister than your brain could comprehend or begin to accept, you push it to the far edge, never fully tipping it over. Because it made sense of it to happen, you knew it came with his line of work.

However, just because something is logical doesn’t mean that it’s true. 

So, his existence lingered in a strange ‘in-between’. You couldn’t confirm nor deny it—your body simply couldn’t allow you to reach out to the one person who would give you a clear answer, it was bad enough that Chifuyu knew about your involvement with Hanma.

But you couldn’t handle the constant worrying anymore. You were starting to lose yourself in a maze you trapped yourself in, slamming against the walls you had built for yourself.

You were doing well before Hanma came into your life, handling his absence should be easy. 

Plus, the video call with Yuzuha was refreshing—finally telling someone other than your diary felt like getting a huge weight off of your chest.

“You said you wanted to make a reservation?” You almost forget you’re on the line with the blue-haired man, as you slowly sit up on the couch. 

“If it’s possible, tonight at 8PM?”

“Alright, and how many people?”

There is a long beat of silence, before you finally speak up. “Just one.”

You pray that the silence that follows your response isn’t one of judgement, not that it mattered to you. 

“It’s done. See you at 8PM then?” 

You nod as though he can see you.

“See ya.” 

–

Twelve years shouldn’t feel like such a short time, but Taiju recalls the first time he saw you like it was yesterday. 

Mitsuya had casually mentioned that he was bringing you along to a short meeting with Taiju, and the latter had teased the lavender-haired boy about how clingy you were. And honestly, he wasn’t really expecting much—just the usual shy, reserved type that would never dare look Mitsuya in the eye. He would be the type to speak for them, order for them, be their life-line.

But there you stood, like a lit-match in a room full of gasoline. You were shorter than him, but you dared to set the entire place in flames if he dared to speak.

He doesn’t bother to hide his confusion, immediately raising an eyebrow at you as you stand behind Mitsuya with your arms crossed over your chest.

“My love, this is Tai–”

“I know him.” You never cut off your boyfriend when he speaks, you love hearing his soft and soothing voice, but you couldn’t handle this. Standing in front of someone as vile as Taiju.

Mitsuya tries to be soothing at first, gently rubbing your shoulder as he looks between you and his tall friend. 

“Unfortunately, she does know about the uh… incident.”

Taiju could only describe the look on your face as ‘disbelief’. 

“Incident?” You scoff. “That was attempted murder.”

Taiju crosses his arms over his chest. “Big words for someone your age.”

That seems to set you off even more, and he watches as Mitsuya wraps an arm around your middle before you can explode on him.

“I’m only three years younger than you, dickhead.” 

It was clear from the get-go—the only thing you felt towards him was pure and unadulterated hatred. 

But somewhere down the road, and after befriending his younger sister Yuzuha, your disdain towards the boy grew less evident and more manageable. Taiju could tell by the glances you would throw his way, your silent sharing of a snack you had brought with you, asking him if he was willing to tag along with you and Yuzuha to buy Mitsuya a gift.

“Why would I do that?” He had asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t know? Don’t come then.” You roll your eyes at him, and Taiju swears if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t let them have an attitude with him.

Strangely enough, you were the exception for many things.

Taiju sees you standing in front of the restaurant, the streetlights catching the deep emerald green of your satin maxi skirt as it flowed around your legs. A white knitted sweater hugged you, looking soft and comfortable. Your red high heels clicked softly on the pavement as you shifted your weight, and the small black purse in your hand seemed almost an afterthought. He caught the glint of a delicate necklace at your throat as you scanned the building. 

Just because someone was physically present didn't mean their mind was, and your current state was proof.

You shouldn't have been surprised the restaurant was crowded, but the sheer number of people there on a Wednesday night still caught you off guard. You sighed, preparing to speak to the manager—only to be greeted by a barrel of a chest.

“Ouf,” you step back, ready to apologize, until you feel a hand hold your forearm. 

“Someone really likes to be on time, huh?” that same playful voice, the feeling of a large hand against your skin—Taiju had a strange way of making things feel a bit better.

It could be a Shiba thing.

“Hi,” you reply weakly, and the man’s eyebrows raise. 

So you really weren’t doing okay.

“Is my table ready?” You ask, looking around the place and Taiju nods. 

“Come on.”

The warmth of his hand never leaves your skin, he carefully switches from your forearm to the small of your back and you allow for his touch to linger for a bit as he leads the way. 

The table he had picked for you was in the far back, near a beautiful aquarium. It looked like a VIP seat, but you don’t comment on it until the man pulls back the chair for you and you shoot him a look.

“Should I be worried?”

The blue-haired man chuckles. “Can’t a man treat a woman nicely?”

You eye him carefully as you sit down, watching as he gets seated in front of you. “I’ve known you for years.”

“Then it makes sense for me to treat you nicely.”

You try not to roll your eyes, but it can’t be helped. “Right.”

Taiju leans back in his seat, and you notice that there’s a smile plastered on his face. 

“What?” you question, eyes scanning his body language for something that would give away the reason behind his amusement.

“I really let you do anything to me, you know that?”

You freeze, face flaring up. 

“...what do you mean?”

Slowly, Taiju leans forward with his face a couple of inches away from yours. “Rolling your eyes at me like that, that could get you in trouble, bunny.”

Had you been in a different state of mind—or perhaps, on any other day—your reaction to his flirting would've been entirely different. But it was all too familiar. 

The same shade of gold in those eyes, the bold words, even the way he dressed—the two men were so different, yet, to you right now, strikingly similar. You'd come here for a distraction, not to be reminded of what you'd been grappling with for weeks. 

You swallowed thickly, and Taiju, sensing the shift in your demeanor, noted the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead and the way your gaze kept darting around the crowded restaurant.

“Is everything okay?” Taiju’s voice sounds distant, and within moments you’re reaching for the glass of water next to you.

“Hey, hey—” his hand rests on top of yours, and he doesn’t miss the way you flinch. “You need to breathe.”

“No, I—”

“(Name)." The finality in his voice cut off any chance of argument. When you finally mustered the courage to meet his eyes, your frown deepened at the sight of his worried face. "What happened?"

His gaze, combined with the humiliating weakness of your intense feelings for a man you didn't even know was alive—you absolutely hated it.

“Hanma has been missing for a month.”

—

Taiju listens to you carefully. The distant look in your eyes could've fooled anyone else, had them thinking that you had no feelings whatsoever towards the situation. But your body language was telling an entirely different story.

You were fiddling with your thumbs and your eyes never fully met his ever since you sat down. Your shoulders were squared up, and you kept looking over his shoulder as though to expect someone to show up.

A tall man with dual toned hair and tattooed hands. 

“I feel like if it was just fooling around, I wouldn’t be so… upset.” You admit, the distant look in your eyes is replaced by something glossy. Just what has this man done to you?

The restaurant owner listens to you retell the story of what has unfolded over the last few weeks—from your many attempts to reach the criminal, to the video call you had with his sister. It was obvious you cared for Hanma Shuji, but his line of work didn’t allow you to reach out to any of his co-workers, not even your friend Chifuyu.

And it wasn’t as if Taiju didn’t meet Hanma before—in fact, that interaction near his restaurant was something that kept replaying for a while afterwards.

“Should I ask how you found me?” Your voice sounded sweet, a bit confused but it didn’t sound like you wanted to start a fight. Hanma simply chuckled, turning to face the blue-haired man.

“Get in the car, doll.” 

You didn’t argue, you didn’t ask him why he was ordering you around—you obeyed his words like it was second nature. 

Taiju could tell that whatever was going between you and the criminal was anything but casual, but the question was: were you aware of that?

It was safe to say that you were in a difficult situation, and the annoyance stirred deep in Taiju’s stomach. 

You seemed so worried about this man, going as far as to neglect your own health—you own spark. Why was he so bothered by it?

“I feel like my brain physically can’t stop itself from creating these scenarios where everything goes wrong—”

“It’s only natural,” Taiju leans back in his seat, he sees the shift in your expression, how you go from having a little bit of hope, to absolutely devastated. “It’s his line of work, of course you’d think something bad happened.”

“I know but—” you shake your head before resting your forehead on the palm of your hand. “It doesn’t make sense, he’s been doing it for years and…”

Taiju silently motions something to the waiter, mouthing ‘number two & five’ while actively listening to you. You don’t notice that you didn’t even bother to order, but soon enough there was food in front of you. 

Yet you were still going on about Hanma.

“And I feel like if it was the thought of our situation being more than casual, that would’ve been okay! We could’ve talked it out!”

Taiju pushes the plate of shrimp scampi in front of you, his eyes scanning your face. “You really think you could’ve talked it out with him?”

Your eye twitches at the tone of his voice. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it means,” 

You were too annoyed to notice the intensity of his stare, how his eyes dart across every small detail on your face. How your lips move as you speak, the way you suck them in when you’re annoyed, the twitch to your eyebrows when he says something you don’t want to hear.

Of all the women Taiju's encountered, you're the only one who truly makes him feel alive, like there was more to life than just owning a restaurant and being a successful business-man.

He’s always envied Mitsuya for many things—his kindness, his strength, his resilience and for having you. His pretty, loving and perfect girlfriend whom Mitsuya couldn’t wait to marry.

Until work came first.

The blue-haired man continues to stare at you, drinking in your expressions and body language. There was something a little too familiar about the current state of you—the dark bags under your eyes that even makeup couldn’t hide, the lack of appetite, the devastation and inability to think rationally.

Taiju is finally able to pinpoint why he is so bothered by your reaction to Hanma’s absence.

You notice that the man has gone completely silent. He holds his glass with one hand, swirling his drink and he seems to be deep in thought.

“Taiju?”

“Do you remember when Takashi broke up with you? How I only found out because I called to say happy birthday but found you crying?”

Your heart sinks in your stomach, and your face contorts into something akin to hurt. Taiju doesn’t like this expression, but he needs to make a point.

“...what?”

“You were devastated over a man who loved you,” Taiju leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “That makes sense, right?”

The look in your eyes is threatening, dangerous as you hiss the words:“What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“You’re losing yourself over a man who doesn’t care about you.” 

Your lips part in shock. The words hit you like a ton of bricks, your heart was beating loudly in your ears and you shook your head.

“Wha–no? No, I know he cares about me.”

“How?” The tall man asks, leaning back in his chair. He raises an eyebrow, his fingers drumming on the table. “How do you know he cares about you?”

“He got possessive over me that day, he–” you give Taiju a look. “You saw it. That was possessiveness.”

“And? You think that means shit?” he scoffs. “Men get possessive over parking spots.” 

“I don’t think…” you break eye contact with Taiju, slumping back in your chair. “I don’t believe that he never cared.”

“I’m not saying he never did, I’m just saying that he’s hurt you many times. That doesn’t sound like someone who cares.”

“He’s got his own issues on the side...”

“And you’re not a therapist.”

It’s really starting to get on Taiju’s nerves—the excuses you keep making for a man who’s made your life miserable, the defensiveness when he points out the obvious. He needed you to wake up and remember who you were. 

The fierce Haitani sister, the girl he met that was so protective of her boyfriend, and the woman whose college graduation he attended. 

You weren’t going to let someone like Hanma come and take that spark away.

For a moment, Taiju considers his options. He could listen to you talk about Hanma all day and get annoyed, and you would keep mourning the loss of something you never had. 

Or he could suggest something else.

“I can help you.”

You tilt your head. “Huh?” 

He continues. “Forget about him. I can help you forget about him.”

“...Taiju, it’s not funny.”

Taiju leans closer to your face, and you feel his hot breath fan over your lips. “When have I ever lied to you?”

The proximity leaves you breathless, but you don’t pull back. You swallow thickly, and your eyes keep darting over his face before landing on his lips. 

“You’re…how much did you drink?”

Instead of answering you, he grabs your hand from under the table and places it directly on his bulge. You gasp, but make no attempt to pull away from his touch. You feel your face flare up, and your throat dries up at the sheer size of him through his pants. 

“I’m as sober as a church mouse, pretty.” 

You swallow again. 

“Let me help you, I can treat you so well.” He whispers the last part, and you see his eyes shift their attention on your plump lips. 

You feel small under his gaze, easily breakable—your fingers twitch around his bulge, before your hand fully palms and you hear a hiss. 

“No,” he abruptly pushes back his seat before standing up and you have to peel your eyes away from his pants to grab your purse. “Go to my car.”

You panic, hands reaching for your phone as you look around.

“But I don’t know—” you see him throw car keys on the table, before going to the back of the restaurant.

“Underground parking lot.” You nod stupidly fast before scurrying out of your seat and towards the front of the restaurant, asking where the underground parking lot was. 

You’re not even embarrassed by how fast you obeyed his words, that emotion can consume you later when he’s done with you. 

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[slttygeto]

ECHOES OF TIME ༉‧₊˚. hanma shuji

Summary: Amidst the chaos of his work life, Hanma finds refuge and solace within your presence. Two souls bound by an imperceptible and delicate tie, strained by the passage of time that kept you apart. However, can this thin thread endure the weight of his inner struggles? And will you accept offering your heart to such an unpredictable man?

Read Echoes of Time and find out!

Word count: 51,2k

Content warning: canon related, not canon compliant, evil toman! hanma, fem! reader, reader is described to be shorter and of a smaller build than hanma's, cursing, gvn use, mvrder, description of graphic scenes, blood, gang violence, smut, oral (receiving and giving), fingering, unprotected sex, hanma has a vasectomy, size kink, dirty talk, angst.

note: this is, once again, heavily self indulgent. I still tried to make it as vague as possible, but some of the interactions or conversations that happen are ones that I envisioned for my selfship with him. there will be a few characters present in the story to make it fun and because it makes no sense for the story to happen just between the two of them, hopefully you’ll enjoy it. but if this isn't your cup of tea, kindly move along and have a great day.

CHAPTER ONE (4k words)

CHAPTER TWO (4k words)

CHAPTER THREE (4k words) cw: violence, mvrder.

CHAPTER FOUR (7,2k words) cw: smut

CHAPTER FIVE (6k words) cw: v!olence.

CHAPTER SIX (5,4k words) cw: suggestive.

CHAPTER SEVEN (5k words) cw: smut.

CHAPTER EIGHT (5,3k words) cw: smut.

CHAPTER NINE (10,1k words) cw: smut.

CHAPTER TEN (6K words)

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[slttygeto]

༉‧₊˚. LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST WHILE READING!

༉‧₊˚. episode 10: twilight zone

preview: "Longing for something is painful in itself, but it’s lethal when it was never yours to begin with. "

content warning: we're soooo back (temporarily), reader is a mess.

word count: 6k

༉‧₊˚. note: thank you once again to my amazing best friend @aurelianamu for being my beta reader! another chapter that took way too long because of my writer's block and other personal reasons. but pls do enjoy and like, reblog and comment pls :)!!

༉‧₊˚. reblogs + comments are really appreciated!

➜ MASTERLIST

"Take a deep breath," a deep male voice slowly pulls you from your daze. 

You glance around the restaurant, taking in the orange lighting, soft brown cushions, and the overwhelming scent of seafood. 

"Hey, I’m right here." Your eyes shift back from the crowd at the entrance to the golden eyes gazing at you. Your throat feels parched, and unable to speak, you simply nod repeatedly until a gentle hand rests on your head.

"You'll make yourself dizzy, bunny." 

Though it's just a nickname, your shoulders droop, and you lower your head, exhaling deeply. 

"Now," the deep voice speaks again, drawing your attention. You lift your head to meet the gaze of the man who had answered your call when you made a reservation at this very restaurant—the one he owns. 

Taiju leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, fully focused on you. There’s no escaping his inquiry. 

"Why don’t you start from the beginning?"

—

Beep

Beep

Your ceiling was a white color, it had ridges around the corners and a small crack that formed over the years and many earthquakes that have passed. The walls of your apartment were a creamier color, it balanced out the wooden furniture that you had picked out and the paintings you hung by the entrance of your door. There was one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen and a living room–

Beep

Beep

Your eyes follow the framed pictures sitting near the TV–was dust starting to collect on them? When was the last time you wiped them down? You shake your head and look away, choosing to stare out of the window. The area that you lived in was a pretty secure one, it was alive both during the night and day–

Beep

Beep

The to-do list sitting on your kitchen counter was looking rather empty. You weren’t sure if you had written down everything–only six things to check out? That didn’t feel like enough. Where was the deep cleaning part? Your laundry needed to be sorted through and re-organized, half of your make-up was sitting on your vanity, your hair accessories were lying everywhere–

“The person you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after…” 

Call ended.

You hold your phone for a while after ending the call, staring at the screen with nearly no expression on your face. You felt nauseous. No, you were certain that you were nauseous but had no reason to throw up.

Four days shouldn’t be concerning, it’s happened before. You can’t change him.

Slowly, you place your phone down on your kitchen counter before looking around your place. It definitely needed some cleaning, and what better way to de-stress than make it look spotless?

Besides, you had a feeling that Hanma (despite his lack of appreciation for the little things in life) would absolutely enjoy a spotless apartment. Maybe he would even tease you about how you haven’t changed a tiny bit.

“It’s…10PM, what the fuck are you doing?” A sixteen year old Hanma stands on your fire escape, a habit he’s formed over the many months of visiting you. He watches with curious eyes as you lay out all of your clothes on your bed, your hair styled in a way that keeps it out of your face.

You huff as you stare up at him, annoyed that he interrupted your momentum. “Organizing.”

“At this time? The fuck are you, a stressed out Cindrella?” He doesn’t even try to step inside your room, aware that you would most likely scold him. He could smell the air-freshener on the curtains, and the carpeted floor looked as though it had been recently vacuumed. 

You don’t bother to look back at him as you respond. “God forbid a girl wants to re-organize her closet.”

And without missing a beat, Hanma adds. “At 10PM?” 

That wasn’t the last time he ever saw you stress-clean, and everytime without missing a chance, he would let you know that your room looks spotless. And it would throw you so off-guard that words would die down in your mouth, leaving your jaw hanging open as you watched him climb down the fire escape.

He once told you that old habits die hard, and this was definitely something you couldn’t let go of. You start with the kitchen—you put the dishes back in their spot, give the kitchen counter and the stove a nice scrub before moving onto the fridge. You never realized that the racks had gotten a bit dirty, so you remove them and wash them one by one. While they dry, you get to re-organizing the small pantry section in the corner of your kitchen, throwing out what had long gone bad. 

By the time you were done in the kitchen, it was time to move to the bathroom. That didn’t take you a long time since the space for it was rather tight, but you made sure to scrub hard enough until your arms almost gave out—

And once in a while, you would look out of the door and peek from behind the wall to see if you had missed it—the three loud knocks that threatened to shake the walls of your apartment, or the playful jab at your door with his foot that always left your blood boiling. You had always scolded him that he would leave shoe prints, and he shrugged it off everytime. 

But your apartment is quiet—eerily so. So much so that you finally decide to turn on your TV and play one of your favorite podcasts. 

You were in the mood for something light-hearted this time.

When it is finally time for your bedroom, your hand reaches for the window first thing. This apartment also had a fire-escape, something you had dreaded at first. Because no matter how secure the area was, you didn’t appreciate the idea of someone landing on your fire-escape and somehow breaking into your house. But after securing it and living in the apartment long enough, you were no longer afraid that someone might randomly land there.

In fact, you hoped that someone wearing a suit with a striped tie around his neck and a pair of glasses would somehow land on your fire escape. That would be the only explanation as to why he wasn’t knocking at your door yet. 

“Must be a long mission.” There is a heavy weight on your chest as you utter those simple words. Something about Hanma being on a mission never sat right with you, even if it was part of his job. You had no idea what could happen and when—and that fills you with so much dread. 

You shake your head at the negativity that suddenly consumes you, finally facing the mess that was your bedroom. Bedsheets and clothes on the floor, one pillowcase discarded while the other remained in the same position he had left it in. 

You never took Hanma for a person to hug his pillow in his sleep, but that also meant that he rubbed off his scent on the fabric rather easily. That same smoky, warm and slightly intoxicating perfume that always had you sighing against his skin. 

Well, your room still needed a good cleaning.

—

When does a person finally take matters into their own hands?

Some would say right away, others are too afraid of confrontation and would rather delay the interaction for as long as they could. You were neither of the two—anxious and bold at the same time, you wish you could have done something about this situation.

But the reality was; you can’t. You simply cannot do anything about something that was foggy in itself—a dark and clouded forest you didn’t know your way out of. Your thumb hovers the screen for a few minutes, trembling as you press call again. 

Beep

Beep

Call cancelled.

The calls weren’t going through anymore. 

Which didn’t make sense for many reasons–that was Hanma’s personal phone number, he had to be using it at all times, right? Or maybe he had it on airplane mode so that he could avoid being tracked down. Either way, an eleven-day mission simply didn’t make sense to you.

Hanma was an unstoppable force–you had seen it with your own two eyes when you stumbled upon that scene in the abandoned building. He was violent, aggressive, strong and impressive all at the same time. He was a reliable member of Toman, one of the important pillars that ensured the stability of the team. You might not be aware of what they were doing, but you knew that his fall would mean the destruction of Toman.

It didn’t make sense for him to disappear for almost three weeks.

Buzz. 

In an instant, your phone was back in your hand. You hate how fast you reached for it, you loathe yourself even more for the lump in your throat when you read the name and it isn’t his. Your thumb hovers the screen, trembling, hesitant to click on the messages. 

It was a co-worker. Bile rises to your throat.

hey where have u been

uve been offline for like the whole weekend

and i heard you took the week off

is everything okay?

yeah just came down with a nasty flu :// 

ill be back next week dw! 

thanks for asking about me tho

Anyday

if you need smth let me know, mkay?

If it were any other situation than this, you would absolutely reach out to them, but you cannot imagine yourself opening up to them—a co-worker out of all people, about something as personal as this. 

You remember his words, that day when he took you out claiming that he wanted to check on you, like he was some sort of friend to you. 

“It was okay, I have some friends at work,” he seems to find that funny as he snorts.

“Those aren’t your friends, baby girl. Those are your colleagues.”

“They can also be my friends,” you glare annoyingly. You don’t like when people assume they know you better than yourself, and Hanma wasn’t an exception.

He leans back against the dark leather seat, lips twitching with amusement. “Sure they can.”

You loathe the fact that his words had some sort of truth to them, that you were never truly able to open up to your colleagues the same way you did with people from your past. And here you were all alone at home, having taken the week off for reasons you felt were pathetic, and with nobody to listen to you or your problems.

Or maybe there was actually someone. 

Your hand swipes across the screen in fast movements, looking for that one instagram account you had been following for a while—a friend you’ve made around the same time you started dating Mitsuya— 

Shiba Yuzuha was a breath of fresh air.

The two of you had stayed very good friends even after you left the city—she was your best friend, someone you felt comfortable with telling everything to. You weren’t the type to text everyday, but whenever the two of you caught up with each other, it felt as though you were fifteen all over again. 

You inhale deeply as you stare at your shared conversation with her—the two of you were sharing memes just a few days prior before she got busy with work again. You could simply shoot her a message explaining the situation or…

hey

lemme know when ur available to talk

Within seconds, she had seen your message. You don’t expect her to respond to you that quickly.

I’m here

Is everything okay?

No. Nothing was okay. You feel pathetic for tearing at the message, you curl up on the couch and your body trembles as sobs rip from the back of your throat—God did you feel like a mess.

When Yuzuha notices that you had left her on seen for more than five minutes, she presses call.

Your phone lights up, Yuzuha’s name and picture appear big on your screen that you scramble to wipe your tears and clear your voice to make it seem as though you weren’t crying your heart out. 

“Hello?” 

“What’s wrong?”

That was the start of a six-hour-long call with the Shiba sister.

—

You don’t remember how much you told Yuzuha, but at one point during the call all she could do was sigh before asking if you two could switch to a video call.

The gasp that left her when she had seen the state of you was a tell-tale sign that you were going through it.

“Girl!” She covers her mouth, clearly concerned. “What has this man done to you?”

“You don’t want to know.” You say bitterly followed by a dry chuckle. 

“Oh I think I do, I mean you’ve given me a clear picture of how he’s been folding you–”

“Yuzuha!” Your hands cover your hot face, and you run your fingers through your hair before heaving out a long sigh. “I feel so stupid for even worrying about him, you know?”

“Listen, this is Hanma we’re talking about.” Yuzuha starts, and you see her move around her kitchen before finally setting her phone on the table with a plate of curry in front of her. “I’m sure he’s not that easy of a target.”

She didn’t even need to tell you this, because you knew all of this—you were well aware of how scary Hanma was, how terrifying he could be, the reputation he had built for himself at just sixteen by terrorizing the streets of Shinjuku stood as a testament to that. 

But closing on almost three weeks of no contact was starting to drive you crazy.

Yuzuha watches closely as you rest your forehead on your knees, hugging them close to your chest before your soft voice sounds out:“I just need to know that he’s okay.” 

She wasn’t one to poke and prod when it came to your romantic partners, she always waited until you were comfortable enough to let her know when and who you were dating—however, she has never seen you this invested in a person.

Not since Mitsuya Takashi, the man she thought you were going to marry and have children with.

“Do you like him?” Yuzuha finally breaks the silence, and you slowly raise your head to stare at the screen. Your eyebrows are furrowed, almost offended that she had even asked you this question.

“No? What—” But why was your body feeling hot? And why was it that your heart was beating so hard against your ribcage? 

Did you like Hanma Shuji?

“I don’t like him like that, we’re just friends and—”

Yuzuha’s lips curl up in a playful smile.“You’re turning red in the face.”

“Shut up.”

Another beat of silence follows, before the peach-haired woman speaks up again.

“It’s okay if you like him, I mean—”

“I don’t have feelings for him.” Your words came out much harsher and more definitive than you'd intended. You recoiled from your own voice, seeing Yuzuha's visibly startled face. You feel terrible, curling up in a ball as you hug your knees to your chest. “I’m…sorry. I just don’t want to think of that possibility.”

Yuzuha could sense that you were conflicted—she watches as your fingers reach for something. Was that…

“Is that the necklace Mitsuya got you?” Her tone doesn’t sound accusatory, but you can’t help but feel like a deer caught in headlights as she points it out.

“...yeah?”

“Girl!” She gasps. “It’s been years! Why did I never notice?”

“And?” You cover your neck with your hand, shielding the necklace away from her judgemental gaze. “And probably because we haven’t met up in a—”

“And? You have to move on, I’m certain that he did–”

You groan as you hold your head. “Don’t put that idea in my head.”

“Seriously, you never took it off?”

Not once. Even after dating a couple of people after Mitsuya, that necklace would never come off. It was a reminder of what you could’ve still had with the lavender-haired man.

Had he not prioritized his career over a relationship.

He was everything you wanted and more—a loving partner, caring and patient and willing to put up with your worst mood swings. But he was also such a breath of fresh air to be around. When your brothers (mostly Ran) would ground you for something stupid, the boy would climb up your fire escape with snacks and a movie to watch with you. And he would only leave after making sure that you were sound asleep. 

Mitsuya was your first love, and he set a standard no one else could reach. 

In your eyes, no one will ever truly measure up.

"No," you responded, your voice lacking its usual defensiveness, replaced instead by sheer weariness. Yuzuha wisely let the subject go. After a few more minutes of conversation, you two decided to call it a night. 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, I’m glad you told me.” She flashes you a soft smile before grabbing her phone. “I’ll let you sleep, text me if anything happens. Okay?”

And then the video call ends.

–

The apartment was slowly starting to look like a graveyard. The blinds were constantly shut, you only allowed sunlight for a few hours before closing them and returning to your spot on the couch. 

You have watched every movie you had put off, every series you said you would never dare touch—hell, you even cried at a Horror movie. It’s safe to say that the state of your apartment was a direct reflection on the state of your mind.

An absolute mess.

You attempt to have a proper breakfast for the first time in a couple of days, and it surprisingly goes well. You’re not sure if it is the shower you took before going to bed or the sunlight that suddenly appeared in the middle of December, but you are grateful for the warmth against your skin.

Even as you turn on the TV, a sigh doesn’t escape your lips and you don’t immediately click on the News Channel. 

And last but not least, for the first time in a month, you pick up your phone for a reason that wasn’t centered around him. Because if you were going to have a good start to your day, you were going to make sure that it ends the same way.

Your thumb glides over the screen with little to no care, searching for the familiar contact name. When you reach the last row of letters, you click on a single name. 

Press call.

It’s ringing.

“Hello?”

“Anchor & Cross, how can I help you?”

“I would like to make a reservation, please?”

There is a long pause after that, and you pull your phone away from your ear to stare at your screen. You were still on the line.

“Hello?”

“(Name), is that you?”

Your heart stills at the familiarity of the voice, of the way he says your name—you didn’t expect him to pick up, he had staff to do that after all. Alas, you gather all of your remaining mental strength to respond.

“Yes Taiju, it is me.”

“How have you been? It’s been a while since you showed up at the restaurant.” 

It had been four weeks to be exact—four long weeks since you shared a bed with Hanma, since you felt his warmth or were held in his arms. 

Longing for something is painful in itself, but it’s lethal when it was never yours to begin with. 

So, now you are holed up in your apartment, lonely and refusing any human interaction. Your anxiety hasn’t allowed you a peaceful day since his sudden departure, you cannot get yourself to go outside without looking at the faces of passersby and praying that you see even a glimpse of him. Dual toned hair, intense golden eyes, barely shaven beard and a pair of glasses. You never find him despite how hard you stare and how long your gaze lingers.

And something looms over your head—darker and far more suffocating than the anxiety that grips your bones. An idea far more sinister than your brain could comprehend or begin to accept, you push it to the far edge, never fully tipping it over. Because it made sense of it to happen, you knew it came with his line of work.

However, just because something is logical doesn’t mean that it’s true. 

So, his existence lingered in a strange ‘in-between’. You couldn’t confirm nor deny it—your body simply couldn’t allow you to reach out to the one person who would give you a clear answer, it was bad enough that Chifuyu knew about your involvement with Hanma.

But you couldn’t handle the constant worrying anymore. You were starting to lose yourself in a maze you trapped yourself in, slamming against the walls you had built for yourself.

You were doing well before Hanma came into your life, handling his absence should be easy. 

Plus, the video call with Yuzuha was refreshing—finally telling someone other than your diary felt like getting a huge weight off of your chest.

“You said you wanted to make a reservation?” You almost forget you’re on the line with the blue-haired man, as you slowly sit up on the couch. 

“If it’s possible, tonight at 8PM?”

“Alright, and how many people?”

There is a long beat of silence, before you finally speak up. “Just one.”

You pray that the silence that follows your response isn’t one of judgement, not that it mattered to you. 

“It’s done. See you at 8PM then?” 

You nod as though he can see you.

“See ya.” 

–

Twelve years shouldn’t feel like such a short time, but Taiju recalls the first time he saw you like it was yesterday. 

Mitsuya had casually mentioned that he was bringing you along to a short meeting with Taiju, and the latter had teased the lavender-haired boy about how clingy you were. And honestly, he wasn’t really expecting much—just the usual shy, reserved type that would never dare look Mitsuya in the eye. He would be the type to speak for them, order for them, be their life-line.

But there you stood, like a lit-match in a room full of gasoline. You were shorter than him, but you dared to set the entire place in flames if he dared to speak.

He doesn’t bother to hide his confusion, immediately raising an eyebrow at you as you stand behind Mitsuya with your arms crossed over your chest.

“My love, this is Tai–”

“I know him.” You never cut off your boyfriend when he speaks, you love hearing his soft and soothing voice, but you couldn’t handle this. Standing in front of someone as vile as Taiju.

Mitsuya tries to be soothing at first, gently rubbing your shoulder as he looks between you and his tall friend. 

“Unfortunately, she does know about the uh… incident.”

Taiju could only describe the look on your face as ‘disbelief’. 

“Incident?” You scoff. “That was attempted murder.”

Taiju crosses his arms over his chest. “Big words for someone your age.”

That seems to set you off even more, and he watches as Mitsuya wraps an arm around your middle before you can explode on him.

“I’m only three years younger than you, dickhead.” 

It was clear from the get-go—the only thing you felt towards him was pure and unadulterated hatred. 

But somewhere down the road, and after befriending his younger sister Yuzuha, your disdain towards the boy grew less evident and more manageable. Taiju could tell by the glances you would throw his way, your silent sharing of a snack you had brought with you, asking him if he was willing to tag along with you and Yuzuha to buy Mitsuya a gift.

“Why would I do that?” He had asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t know? Don’t come then.” You roll your eyes at him, and Taiju swears if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t let them have an attitude with him.

Strangely enough, you were the exception for many things.

Taiju sees you standing in front of the restaurant, the streetlights catching the deep emerald green of your satin maxi skirt as it flowed around your legs. A white knitted sweater hugged you, looking soft and comfortable. Your red high heels clicked softly on the pavement as you shifted your weight, and the small black purse in your hand seemed almost an afterthought. He caught the glint of a delicate necklace at your throat as you scanned the building. 

Just because someone was physically present didn't mean their mind was, and your current state was proof.

You shouldn't have been surprised the restaurant was crowded, but the sheer number of people there on a Wednesday night still caught you off guard. You sighed, preparing to speak to the manager—only to be greeted by a barrel of a chest.

“Ouf,” you step back, ready to apologize, until you feel a hand hold your forearm. 

“Someone really likes to be on time, huh?” that same playful voice, the feeling of a large hand against your skin—Taiju had a strange way of making things feel a bit better.

It could be a Shiba thing.

“Hi,” you reply weakly, and the man’s eyebrows raise. 

So you really weren’t doing okay.

“Is my table ready?” You ask, looking around the place and Taiju nods. 

“Come on.”

The warmth of his hand never leaves your skin, he carefully switches from your forearm to the small of your back and you allow for his touch to linger for a bit as he leads the way. 

The table he had picked for you was in the far back, near a beautiful aquarium. It looked like a VIP seat, but you don’t comment on it until the man pulls back the chair for you and you shoot him a look.

“Should I be worried?”

The blue-haired man chuckles. “Can’t a man treat a woman nicely?”

You eye him carefully as you sit down, watching as he gets seated in front of you. “I’ve known you for years.”

“Then it makes sense for me to treat you nicely.”

You try not to roll your eyes, but it can’t be helped. “Right.”

Taiju leans back in his seat, and you notice that there’s a smile plastered on his face. 

“What?” you question, eyes scanning his body language for something that would give away the reason behind his amusement.

“I really let you do anything to me, you know that?”

You freeze, face flaring up. 

“...what do you mean?”

Slowly, Taiju leans forward with his face a couple of inches away from yours. “Rolling your eyes at me like that, that could get you in trouble, bunny.”

Had you been in a different state of mind—or perhaps, on any other day—your reaction to his flirting would've been entirely different. But it was all too familiar. 

The same shade of gold in those eyes, the bold words, even the way he dressed—the two men were so different, yet, to you right now, strikingly similar. You'd come here for a distraction, not to be reminded of what you'd been grappling with for weeks. 

You swallowed thickly, and Taiju, sensing the shift in your demeanor, noted the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead and the way your gaze kept darting around the crowded restaurant.

“Is everything okay?” Taiju’s voice sounds distant, and within moments you’re reaching for the glass of water next to you.

“Hey, hey—” his hand rests on top of yours, and he doesn’t miss the way you flinch. “You need to breathe.”

“No, I—”

“(Name)." The finality in his voice cut off any chance of argument. When you finally mustered the courage to meet his eyes, your frown deepened at the sight of his worried face. "What happened?"

His gaze, combined with the humiliating weakness of your intense feelings for a man you didn't even know was alive—you absolutely hated it.

“Hanma has been missing for a month.”

—

Taiju listens to you carefully. The distant look in your eyes could've fooled anyone else, had them thinking that you had no feelings whatsoever towards the situation. But your body language was telling an entirely different story.

You were fiddling with your thumbs and your eyes never fully met his ever since you sat down. Your shoulders were squared up, and you kept looking over his shoulder as though to expect someone to show up.

A tall man with dual toned hair and tattooed hands. 

“I feel like if it was just fooling around, I wouldn’t be so… upset.” You admit, the distant look in your eyes is replaced by something glossy. Just what has this man done to you?

The restaurant owner listens to you retell the story of what has unfolded over the last few weeks—from your many attempts to reach the criminal, to the video call you had with his sister. It was obvious you cared for Hanma Shuji, but his line of work didn’t allow you to reach out to any of his co-workers, not even your friend Chifuyu.

And it wasn’t as if Taiju didn’t meet Hanma before—in fact, that interaction near his restaurant was something that kept replaying for a while afterwards.

“Should I ask how you found me?” Your voice sounded sweet, a bit confused but it didn’t sound like you wanted to start a fight. Hanma simply chuckled, turning to face the blue-haired man.

“Get in the car, doll.” 

You didn’t argue, you didn’t ask him why he was ordering you around—you obeyed his words like it was second nature. 

Taiju could tell that whatever was going between you and the criminal was anything but casual, but the question was: were you aware of that?

It was safe to say that you were in a difficult situation, and the annoyance stirred deep in Taiju’s stomach. 

You seemed so worried about this man, going as far as to neglect your own health—you own spark. Why was he so bothered by it?

“I feel like my brain physically can’t stop itself from creating these scenarios where everything goes wrong—”

“It’s only natural,” Taiju leans back in his seat, he sees the shift in your expression, how you go from having a little bit of hope, to absolutely devastated. “It’s his line of work, of course you’d think something bad happened.”

“I know but—” you shake your head before resting your forehead on the palm of your hand. “It doesn’t make sense, he’s been doing it for years and…”

Taiju silently motions something to the waiter, mouthing ‘number two & five’ while actively listening to you. You don’t notice that you didn’t even bother to order, but soon enough there was food in front of you. 

Yet you were still going on about Hanma.

“And I feel like if it was the thought of our situation being more than casual, that would’ve been okay! We could’ve talked it out!”

Taiju pushes the plate of shrimp scampi in front of you, his eyes scanning your face. “You really think you could’ve talked it out with him?”

Your eye twitches at the tone of his voice. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it means,” 

You were too annoyed to notice the intensity of his stare, how his eyes dart across every small detail on your face. How your lips move as you speak, the way you suck them in when you’re annoyed, the twitch to your eyebrows when he says something you don’t want to hear.

Of all the women Taiju's encountered, you're the only one who truly makes him feel alive, like there was more to life than just owning a restaurant and being a successful business-man.

He’s always envied Mitsuya for many things—his kindness, his strength, his resilience and for having you. His pretty, loving and perfect girlfriend whom Mitsuya couldn’t wait to marry.

Until work came first.

The blue-haired man continues to stare at you, drinking in your expressions and body language. There was something a little too familiar about the current state of you—the dark bags under your eyes that even makeup couldn’t hide, the lack of appetite, the devastation and inability to think rationally.

Taiju is finally able to pinpoint why he is so bothered by your reaction to Hanma’s absence.

You notice that the man has gone completely silent. He holds his glass with one hand, swirling his drink and he seems to be deep in thought.

“Taiju?”

“Do you remember when Takashi broke up with you? How I only found out because I called to say happy birthday but found you crying?”

Your heart sinks in your stomach, and your face contorts into something akin to hurt. Taiju doesn’t like this expression, but he needs to make a point.

“...what?”

“You were devastated over a man who loved you,” Taiju leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “That makes sense, right?”

The look in your eyes is threatening, dangerous as you hiss the words:“What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“You’re losing yourself over a man who doesn’t care about you.” 

Your lips part in shock. The words hit you like a ton of bricks, your heart was beating loudly in your ears and you shook your head.

“Wha–no? No, I know he cares about me.”

“How?” The tall man asks, leaning back in his chair. He raises an eyebrow, his fingers drumming on the table. “How do you know he cares about you?”

“He got possessive over me that day, he–” you give Taiju a look. “You saw it. That was possessiveness.”

“And? You think that means shit?” he scoffs. “Men get possessive over parking spots.” 

“I don’t think…” you break eye contact with Taiju, slumping back in your chair. “I don’t believe that he never cared.”

“I’m not saying he never did, I’m just saying that he’s hurt you many times. That doesn’t sound like someone who cares.”

“He’s got his own issues on the side...”

“And you’re not a therapist.”

It’s really starting to get on Taiju’s nerves—the excuses you keep making for a man who’s made your life miserable, the defensiveness when he points out the obvious. He needed you to wake up and remember who you were. 

The fierce Haitani sister, the girl he met that was so protective of her boyfriend, and the woman whose college graduation he attended. 

You weren’t going to let someone like Hanma come and take that spark away.

For a moment, Taiju considers his options. He could listen to you talk about Hanma all day and get annoyed, and you would keep mourning the loss of something you never had. 

Or he could suggest something else.

“I can help you.”

You tilt your head. “Huh?” 

He continues. “Forget about him. I can help you forget about him.”

“...Taiju, it’s not funny.”

Taiju leans closer to your face, and you feel his hot breath fan over your lips. “When have I ever lied to you?”

The proximity leaves you breathless, but you don’t pull back. You swallow thickly, and your eyes keep darting over his face before landing on his lips. 

“You’re…how much did you drink?”

Instead of answering you, he grabs your hand from under the table and places it directly on his bulge. You gasp, but make no attempt to pull away from his touch. You feel your face flare up, and your throat dries up at the sheer size of him through his pants. 

“I’m as sober as a church mouse, pretty.” 

You swallow again. 

“Let me help you, I can treat you so well.” He whispers the last part, and you see his eyes shift their attention on your plump lips. 

You feel small under his gaze, easily breakable—your fingers twitch around his bulge, before your hand fully palms and you hear a hiss. 

“No,” he abruptly pushes back his seat before standing up and you have to peel your eyes away from his pants to grab your purse. “Go to my car.”

You panic, hands reaching for your phone as you look around.

“But I don’t know—” you see him throw car keys on the table, before going to the back of the restaurant.

“Underground parking lot.” You nod stupidly fast before scurrying out of your seat and towards the front of the restaurant, asking where the underground parking lot was. 

You’re not even embarrassed by how fast you obeyed his words, that emotion can consume you later when he’s done with you. 

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[slttygeto]

pairing: iwaizumi x oikawa's little sister! reader

genre: fluff

“when Iwa and I first became friends, one of the first things that I remember telling him was ‘I have a younger sister! but she’s not old enough to be in school yet like me!’ all proud and stuff that I had something that she couldn’t achieve yet—“ the entire crowd erupts in laughter, and Oikawa chuckles before he continues.

“But still, I was very excited to introduce him to her—y’know, my best friend and the most annoying part of my day, this boy who’s been spending so many hours with me! and the person who annoys me at the door of my room to come out and play with her. they would get along just well.” another round of laughter, this time he can hear you in the crowd too.

“So they met, and what I didn’t realize at the time was that you, Iwa,” the brown-haired man points a finger at the groom, shaking his head. “—were really bad with girls.”

Iwaizumi looks down, tips of his ears flushed as he laughs at his best friend’s words. They had a lot of truth to them, he was basically horrible around girls and could barely get a word out without stuttering and looking like an awkward mess.

“And so he barely introduced himself to my sister before making his way up to my room and never speaking a single word to her ever again.”

"Naturally, I thought that he must feel nothing towards her". You place a hand on your husband’s thigh.

"Their conversations consisted of ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s and hurried ‘thank you’s”

The crowd starts laughing again, and Iwaizumi can feel his face get hotter by the second. You giggle next to your husband, covering one of his ears with your hand.

"You're okay," you whisper gently, your other hand rubbing his knee while he chuckles weakly.

"I'm not made for this shit."

Thankfully, Oikawa notices the slight discomfort that his bestfriend was experiencing and decides to finish his speech.

"But now look at them, they made out in front of me--" he rolls his eyes jokingly and you stick your tongue at him, which he gladly returns.

Then finally, Oikawa delivers the closing line. "I never thought that a day would come where my two bestfriends would get married."

You could feel your eyes well up with tears, but you were holding it together. Or at least you thought you were.

You look towards the podium, only to find that Tooru was mirroring your situation with tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

"Iwa, I'll say this once and I won't say again. I will ruin your life if you hurt her." Even through teary eyes and a strained voice, the brown-haired male manages to sound threatening enough for Iwaizumi to feel genuine nervousness.

The crowd is silent for a while before Oikaway breaks into a smile.

"Everyone say congratulations!"

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[slttygeto]

a little re-write for my inarizaki’s manager post that I did a long time ago cause it’s so cringe 😭

They say that Highschool is all about new experiences—new friends, new activities and definitely new interests. Which is why you picked the Volleyball club.

You had heard from a teacher that the team lacked a manager, someone who was willing to take on tasks such as getting stats of the opposing teams, help manage the team’s schedule and other tasks that would ensure that everything would go smoothly.

Might as well, you thought to yourself.

So the first meeting with the team was…something to say the least.

They all stood out to you in their own way—a set of twins with fried hair, a guy who looked like he didn’t want to be there, three nice guys who tried their best to be as polite as they could and a guy who was quite short compared to the rest—

was he the libero? that was the only position you were able to memorize.

“Welcome.” Coach Norimune casts you a gentle smile, almost grateful that someone had finally decided to take on the manager position. “I will let you get familiarized with the team.”

There wasn’t much to say at first. You stood awkwardly with your clipboard clutched in your hand, unsure of what to do or say. You clear your throat as you look around the gym, noticing that it was surprisingly sparkly clean.

“Do you guys not practice everyday?”

Aran tilts his head to the side, slightly confused. “What makes you say that?”

“it looks too… clean.”

“That would be Kita’s doing.” Aran smiles at his friend who can only blink at you.

“Taking care of the place where we work really hard is the least we could do.”

You blink once—then twice, before nodding. “Right…”

“I bet she will quit in a week.” Atsumu mumbles to his brother as he starts to walk away, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Not the first time someone thought they could handle us.”

“You make it sound like we’re rabid animals.” Osamu replies, lips curved in a small frown.

“I’m sorry, are we not?”

Without casting them a glance, Suna shoves his hand in his pocket as he texts away. “Speak for yourself.”

---

The next few days end up being more hectic than you had expected.

The team ended up having to prepare for a pratice match with another school, which meant that you had to prepare everything for them.

Stats, study sheets, notes from the games you ended up watching for the sake of them. It didn't matter that it was just a practice game, you wanted to show the Coach that you were taking your job seriously.

"And here are the stats on each player," you hand each boy a sheet of paper, before retreating back to your spot next to the coach. "I made sure to highlight what stood out to me the most--feel free to let me know if anything sounds confusing."

The silence that follows is almost defeaning. Sweat threatens to soak the palms of your hands, and you rub them over the fabric of your joggers. You look around nervously, unsure of what to say until your eyes meet those of Coach Norimune.

"You...did all of this?" Osamu, you remember his name, asks with a sheepish smile, to which you reply with a nod.

"Yeah, I mean...I know it's just a practice game but it's the least I could do."

Kita speaks up next. "You took time out of the day to watch every single game, took notes and printed enough sheets for everyone." He lifts up his head, his sharp eyes meeting yours. "That is very kind of you."

You feel nervous under his gaze, akin to a rabbit coming face to face with a predator.

A fox.

"It's nothin--"

"Would you make us food if you could?"

The questions hangs in the air for a few moments before Osamu's teammates turn to him with a deadpan stare.

"Seriously? Food?"

"God forbid a guy gets hungry?"

"That's what a damn cafeteria is for!" Atsumu yells out, exasperated. He turns to you, fully activating his 'charm'. "Don't mind him, miss manager, what this pig over here meant to say--"

"Who the hell are ya calling a pig?!"

Aran sees it. The tiniest smile you try to hide, the way you turn away from their bickering to busy yourself with something else--

Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you were starting to get really attached to them.

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[slttygeto]

you don’t think you’ve ever seen hanma look so…pouty.

he says he isn’t pouting, but when he sits in the large bathtub with his lower body submerged in the water, his arms on each side of the bathtub, flushed cheeks and pursed lips—it’s hard to believe that he isn’t pouting.

or take him seriously.

“you’re enjoying it, huh?” you’re getting ready for bed, knowing that keeping him company was the only solution to his silence. plus, the two of you were a little too attached to one another. when he refuses to respond, you turn to him with a hand on your hip.

“baby, for how long are you going to keep pouting about it?”

“not pouting.” it’s hilarious, really. his deep voice and his tattooed, muscular body should make him appear to be more intimidating but when he refuses to even look at you—you stifle a laugh.

“of course, shuji. you’re not pouting.”

after a long beat of silence, you start to put away your skincare products and notice that your husband is eyeing you the whole time. you bite down on your lip, pretending to busy yourself with one of the drawers under the sink.

“not even gonna ask me again.“

there it is.

you look over your shoulder as he starts to speak, before fully leaning against the door frame.

“what was that?"

"you won't ask me again what's wrong." how can a criminal look so... childish?

"I asked you four times, baby."

"I was going to tell you on the fifth."

you sigh. hanma isn't like this with everyone, you knew he only showed this side because he trusted you with his entire soul.

"okay then, what's wrong?"

"well now I don't want to say."

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[slttygeto]

"The Haitani brother's crime was manslaughter"

Ran: 😁

[slttygeto]

When they want you but also want a fight

[slttygeto]

Girllll the way you write Geto so good it got my pussy speaking in tongue. Continue </3

AKDKEF thank you thats my husband my number one ☝🏻 ill try to write more for him

[slttygeto]

It is CANON geto has DARK BLUE eyes. It’s SHOWN in the manga and anime.

and it’s also canon that i have the biggest dick in town

[slttygeto]

happy birthday mitsuya, you’re the father of my children and my green flag husband

[slttygeto]

do u perchance have any geto x reader fic recs w them still in school 😆 i feel like its so hard for me to find one

hi!! unfortunately not :(( but I will reblog some if I ever find them!!

[slttygeto]

pairing: hanma shuji x fem! reader

nsfw!

hanma, who by the time he lets himself fall in love with you, has grown accustomed to your routine, a telltale sign that he was subconsciously falling into your orbit face first.

hanma, whose touch becomes slightly less perverted than it was at first, he cradles your face as his lips spill out the filthiest words of praise. from “dirty slut” to “good girl” you feel dizzy at the contrast between the way his fingers are rubbing messily at your clit, and how soft his lips feel against yours.

hanma, who is well aware of how flawed he is, still cannot believe that you love him. the way you’re riding him is nothing short of filthy, eager to please him—he is quite vocal, but you’ve never heard him like this. whiny. his fingers threaten to bruise the skin of your hips, digging so harshly that you hiss against his lips.

“I love you.”

he hears you the first time, but it’s all too overwhelming. his head is tipped back, ears a bright red color and his jaw clenched as he tries to suppress his own noises. so you repeat it.

“shuji,” you call out for him, hand cradling his face with so much tenderness that has his eyes blurring. “I love you.”

you watch in real time how he falls apart beneath you. you squeeze around his cock on purpose, and hanma doesn’t miss the small smile adorning your features as he bucks up his hips against yours.

“you fucking tease.” he says through gritted teeth, but he is barely able to contain his noises as he spills everything inside, painting your walls white.

hanma knows he hasn’t said it back, and he fears you might’ve misunderstood or gotten the wrong idea. but when he lays you down on your back ever so softly, golden eyes never once leaving yours as his hand wraps around the back of your thigh to push it against your chest—he sees it.

your gaze, full of warmth and trust, pulls him closer than ever. your arms wrap around his neck, and your lips brush against his playfully.

“I’m waiting,” your fingers scratch at his nape, and hanma could’ve sworn he felt his heart leap in his chest. “or do you wanna show me instead?”

hanma has never been a man of many words, but he can make an exception for you.

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[slttygeto]

pairing: geto suguru x fem! reader

this feels filthy.

this whole situation—being sprawled out on suguru’s bed, with the party still going downstairs and satoru banging on his door. it makes you feel dirty.

not only because your hand is muffling your own noises, but because suguru’s hand squeezes your neck just a bit tighter.

then his fingers move again.

shlick. shlick.

you gasp against your hand, a single tear sliding down your cheek and you refuse to lock eyes with him. the overwhelming feeling of getting stuffed by his fingers is making you feel dizzy and you try to move away from him, arching your body off of the mattress—only for his hand to leave your neck and push your hips down.

“uh-uh. where are you going?”

you throw your head back, moaning at how condescending he sounds. it shouldn’t turn you on so much, the way he’s treating you. it shouldn’t make slick drip down his fingers, or have your thighs trembling the way that they do.

you inhale sharply when his thumb grazes over your clit, and your hand goes from gripping the bed sheets to holding onto his forearm for dear life.

“n-no, no—“

he flicks your clit again, his hand squeezing your neck tighter and your thighs try to close around his hand.

“no?” he asks mockingly, his lips pressed against your ear. “you don’t wanna cum?”

he drags the question playfully, his thumb grazing over the sensitive nub again whilst his fingers push just a bit deeper into your pussy.

“not like t-this—“

BANG BANG BANG

“suguru? come on man! it’s your turn now!”

satoru’s voice doesn’t even snap you out of it like it did the first time, it doesn’t make you panic and reach for the covers to save what’s left of your dignity. suguru can tell that you’re so far gone from the fucked out look in your eyes, the stuttered inhales and the way your hand guides him to finger just a bit deeper.

“should I add another?” his teeth nibble at your earlobe, chuckling when you back up your hips as the palm of his hand grazes your clit.

“that’s a yes.”

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.